


Allen's Run

by orphan_account



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris Allen lives in an all-male society in a distant future. Ever since he was a teenager he has known that when he turns 18, he will be eligible for the Duty; one week spent servicing any man who wanted him. Still, he has reached the age of 24 without being called up, so maybe his luck will hold for another 4 years. Or maybe not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allen's Run

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguely inspired by the movie _Logan's Run_, in which the men and women of a futuristic city had a jewel embedded in their palms which would change colour when they turned 30, the age when they would be 'renewed' (in reality, they would be killed).

The red light filled the room. Kris blinked, and looked around, the sudden change enough to shake him out of the work-fueled daze he'd been in. Where was the light coming from? He was in his cubicle, and it was late enough that the only light in the huge hall came from his screen, and the dim track-lighting along the walls. Still, the red glow seemed to pulse with his heart-beat, and suddenly he _knew_. Of course he knew. Why else would he be breathing so harshly – yes, the gasping sounds he'd been registering for the past few seconds were his own frantic attempts to get some air into his lungs. As he desperately tried to calm down, he looked at the source of the lurid glow. He'd known all along that it was the innocuous looking silver cuff on his wrist – incongruous with the rest of his outfit, a suit and tie, strangely decorative until you realised that it couldn't actually be removed. The jewel which was embedded in the smooth expanse of what looked like silver, but which was actually some synthetic alloy with a long name, was blood-red, and had started to flash.

_But it was green this morning!_ Kris didn't know how he was keeping himself so calm on the outside, because in his head he was having a full-blown panic attack. _This wasn't supposed to happen! Not to me!_ He caught a glimpse of his face reflected on the surface of his screen as he carefully logged out and switched off, and was relieved that none of his turmoil showed in his expression. He felt like he was moving almost robotically as he packed his flash-drives and his tablet away. But once all the mundane tasks were done he collapsed into his chair – what now? What was he supposed to do now? _Run!_ His brain was still working frantically, trying to come up with solutions. But run where? And how? And why, ultimately? He wasn't going to die, just . . . He couldn't even say it, not even in the privacy of his own head. It would happen, and then he would be free. Theoretically. He'd never met anyone who had to go through . . . it . . . twice. He had been prepared for this since his eighteenth birthday – he'd had lessons, sort of, and knew all the theory. _Theory? What theory? The technique of being the neighbourhood slut for a week?_ He'd involuntarily pulled his bag up to his chest and his fingers were tightening convulsively on the handle. He was starting to panic again.

Kris was desperately trying to remember what he was supposed to do next, if he needed to go home straightaway and . . . prepare himself, or if- the cuff started vibrating suddenly, making him jump. A strange voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and it took him a while before he realised that it, too, was coming from the cuff. The voice _was_ strange. It seemed, higher, like a boy's voice, but richer, and with more modulations. It dawned on him that this must be a _woman's_ voice.

He'd never actually seen a woman except in pics or heard one speak before, but he was sure this must be a woman. There had been the occasional glimpse in old movies, but the Censorship Board was pretty thorough. Why use a woman's voice for this? A cynical part of him pointed out that some state psychiatrist must have come up with a theory of how a woman's voice would be a calming influence, and maybe even prove sexually arousing on an unconscious level. The message was being repeated in a monotone:

_K. Allen, please contact your nearest Section Manager. K. Allen, please contact your nearest Section Manager._

 

The repetition was almost soothing. He felt as though he was frozen in his seat, still holding onto his bag, wondering who his Section Manager was and how he was supposed to go about contacting him. His rambling thoughts were interrupted by a familiar beep in his ear. He hadn't taken his headset out when he was packing up, and he answered, on reflex, "Allen."

It was the personnel supervisor who spoke, saying:

"In my office, Allen, right now."

So that was one question answered, at least. Jones must be his elusive Section Manager, and while Kris walked, surprisingly steadily, to the elevators, he wondered at the coincidence of a guy who had been hitting on him for the past year or so being his Section Manager. What did a Section Manager do, anyway? Would he be . . . the first? He cringed a bit at that. It's not that the guy was creepy or disgusting, just that he seemed like a control freak in relationships, and Kris had never been attracted to that sort of thing.

Jones's office was open, and he was leaning against his desk, smirking.

"Turns out I'm your S.M., Allen, how about that? Bet ya wish you'd been nicer to me _now_, right?"

Kris must have looked horrified, because Jones rolled his eyes.

"I'm _kidding_. Look, here's how it's gonna go. There's a few things we have to do, then you're supposed to get home as quickly as possible. The rest of your week will be spent there. I'm not allowed to fuck you, but I get to use your mouth first."

His matter-of-fact tone was probably the worst thing about that last sentence.

"You're not a virgin, are you? 'Cause that would suck, for _you_."

Jones was smiling now, really unpleasantly.

Kris pulled himself together and put his bag down. He remembered what came next, and wasn't going to give that jerk the satisfaction of ordering him around like he clearly wanted to. He started taking off his clothes with short angry movements – he knew he didn't have to get completely naked for this next part, but he was sure Jones was enough of an asshole to make him stick to the rules word for word.

"No, I'm not a _virgin_. And I'm sure you weren't supposed to ask that question."  
"You know the rules all of sudden?" Jones was staring at him hungrily, like he'd never seen anyone naked before. Kris felt like he needed a shower. He crossed his arms, fighting the temptation to cover his dick, and glared at Jones, defiantly, he hoped.

"Well? What's next?"

"What's next is you bend over the desk. Yeah, like that."

Jones's voice became almost tender as he stroked Kris's ass; from his vantage point, bent over the desk, Kris was at eye level with Jones's dick, which Kris could practically see hardening in his dress pants. Jones pulled away with some reluctance and went to his desk drawer, rummaging for a few moments. Just when Kris was sure he was dragging things out to increase his humiliation, Jones came up with a bottle of lube and a small tube from which he tapped out a large, clear capsule, which he proceeded to show Kris.

"Now, pay attention." Again that smirk, and patronising tone. "This is a suppository which should release enough lubricant for the whole week. And I'm the lucky guy who gets to put it in you."

At this he went behind Kris and started lubing up his fingers.

"Should?"

"What?" Jones was rubbing his hole, and starting to insert a finger. Kris had spoken more to distract himself from what was coming. He felt completely absurd, and unbelievably humiliated. Jones was putting in a second finger and using that to stretch him, seemingly enjoying himself.

Kris could see one of the motivational flatscreens from where he hung over the desk. The words: _Give yourself generously, and we will all benefit_ over a pic of a lakeside scene, complete with family (two handsome men in their thirties, with their two year-old son, all mixed ethnicities), picnic and dog, had never seemed more ironic. A far cry from Kris bending over a desk with his boss rummaging up in his ass.

"You said 'should'," Kris managed to get out. He was proud of himself for managing to pretend nothing was happening, even though Jones seemed to be overdoing the stretching.

"If you start to get dry, I'll come over and shove another up you. Won't that be fun? Fuck, you're _tight_."

Jones had finally managed to insert the suppository, and was pushing it up as far as possible – Kris felt a sudden buzz of pleasure as it hit his prostate, and he gasped. He couldn't see Jones's face, but could imagine his smirk.

"Did I mention there's an aphrodisiac in the lube and the coating? Oh, I'm not breaking any _rules_, Allen. It'll be better for everyone involved if you enjoy it a little."

He pulled his fingers out with a squelch that made Kris blush to his toes, and started cleaning them off with a wetwipe, while Kris hung over the desk, trying to regain control over himself. He managed to push himself up slowly, avoiding any dizziness. _At least there's nothing dripping from my ass_, he thought bitterly. He'd heard of this lube which was patented to the state, space age stuff which would seem dry but still actually lubricate, and once again his brain was going off on a tangent because he didn't want to face what came next. He couldn't afford that, couldn't afford to zone out. He _wasn't_ going to show any weakness to this creep.

Kris took a deep breath, grabbed Jones by the arms, and pushed him against his desk so hard that he almost sat down on it.

"What the fuck-"

Before Jones could finish, Kris dropped to his knees and unzipped his pants, pulled down his underwear, and started lapping gently at his rapidly hardening cock. _He's not too bad looking, and at least he showered this morning_. Kris was going to take consolation wherever he could. _And I'm not kissing him. _

After a moment's confusion, Jones really started to get into it, grabbing Kris's head with both hands and forcing him down until Kris was swallowing his cock to the root. Kris had practised deep-throating, so he knew enough to breathe through his nose and relax his throat muscles, and tighten them again and again until Jones groaned and shot down his throat.

Kris wiped his tender and puffy lips with the back of his hand, shakily. He got up and started getting dressed. Was that asshole going to make him ask what came next? He moved his jaw experimentally – it ached, but he'd be fine. His throat, though, was raw, and he winced as he swallowed a few times. Jones was watching him, still smirking.

"A glass of water? For your throat?"

Kris had a sudden vision of himself bashing Jones's face into his desk, over and over, and had to clench his fists and grit his teeth until the impulse went away. When he could see again through the red mist that had filled his vision, he saw Jones looking at him warily.

"Whatever you're thinking right now, don't do it. You wanna have a job here when all this is over, right? Or . . . are you gonna Run?"

Suddenly Jones's face was full of glee. "You know what happens to Runners, right?" Kris had no idea, but he wasn't going to admit that to Jones. Not that anything would stop him telling Kris, now. Jones was on a roll.

"They get sent to prison, and get to service all the other prisoners, all the time. Won't that be fun for you?" He was closer to Kris now. Kris could feel his hot breath on his face. "You'll get to see your daddy again. Family reunion. He'll have to wait his turn, though. Stand in line, like the others."

Kris was taking deep breaths, and clenching his fists in a desperate attempt to calm down. Jones's smile was growing wider and wider, and he _had_ to wipe it off somehow, how the hell did he know about his father-

The sudden vibration on his wrist made him jump, and once again a female voice filled the air.

_K. Allen, you have 30 minutes to reach your place of residence. K. Allen, you have 30 minutes to reach your place of residence_.

They both looked down at his cuff.

"Huh. Yeah, I flashed it before I lubed you up. Guess they calculated exactly how long all that would take." Jones looked disappointed, like he had been looking forward to getting Kris arrested for being a Runner. "You can flash the cuff in your car, otherwise it'll keep yapping all night. Or-" Kris was starting to recognise that smirk, "you can take a cab home. Maybe you don't feel well enough to drive."

"I feel fine." Kris winced. He barely recognized his own voice, he was so hoarse. Refusing to look at Jones again, he grabbed his bag and walked out of the office. He didn't know what that was about – did Jones get a commission from cab drivers or something? – but he decided he didn't care.

As he walked through the lobby, he saw how the two security guards at the front desk immediately stared at his wrist. He'd known them for four years, as long as he'd been working there, and now they just saw him as meat. Though Jeffson, a tall black man in his fifties, seemed to have pity in his eyes. Tucker, a short, sallow twenty-year-old, did not.

"Um, Mr Allen, we're supposed to search you?"

Kris closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. This night wasn't going to get any better. He wordlessly put his briefcase on the desk, and braced himself against it.

"I'll do it," Jeffson said, giving Tucker a look of contempt. "Mr Jones in Personnel just called down, to make sure you don't have any devices to disable the cuff." Jeffson patted him down, carefully, and while Tucker was checking his briefcase and passing an electronic wand over all his tech, whispered in his ear.

"Don't take a cab." Kris pulled back, but Jeffson looked as impassive as usual. Just as he was going to ask Jeffson what he meant, Tucker said: "All clear in the bag." He sounded disappointed.

"All clear, sir." Jeffson went back behind his desk and opened the front doors.

Kris was still wondering what that was all about – not the search, that was just Jones being an asshole. What had Jeffson meant? And what had he put in his pocket under the pretence of patting him down? He was just about to feel for whatever had been planted on him, when his whole train of thought was interrupted again.

_K. Allen, you have 25 minutes to reach your place of residence._  
He hurried to his car, got in, and froze. Now what? How was he supposed to flash the cuff? On impulse, he pressed the starter button. The voice stopped abruptly, and instead, a countdown started on his dashboard clock. He had 24 minutes to get home. Then _it_ would start, for real.

It took Kris fifteen minutes to get to his apartment block. The streets had been almost empty, with a few stragglers hurrying home. In his imagination, every pedestrian he passed had turned to look at him, but he knew that hadn't really happened.

As he closed the door to his apartment, he looked apprehensively at his wrist cuff. The red was now a uniform glow, not pulsing or flashing as it had been in his cubicle. He put his briefcase on the small table near the door and took off his jacket. He stood for a moment and scratched his head, wondering what came next. As though someone had heard his thoughts, a sudden grinding noise came from the back of the apartment.

Walking slowly to the back wall, he felt as though he had entered a surreal dream or one of those strange old movies where people created visions of a distant, never to be realized future. The wall had completed retracted, and behind was a strange bedroom, with silvery metallic walls, strange grilles and displays. As he stepped in, one of the displays switched on, and various symbols and numbers appeared. He recognised the figures which represented his heart rate and blood pressure, and as he looked closer he saw the numbers increase as his heart started beating faster. He looked up and saw that, utterly out of place, there were chains hanging from the ceiling. Just as he was starting to panic again, the voice interrupted his whirling thoughts.

_K. Allen, please disrobe and put all your articles of clothing in the adjoining bathroom._

"There are _fucking_ chains hanging from the _fucking_ ceiling! Wait, what bathroom?"

_Some of your clients may wish to restrain you. Please calm yourself. You will be monitored at all times. No harm will come to you._

The words kept on repeating themselves in hushed whispers: _Calm. Be calm. No harm will come. You are safe here._

His mind was getting fuzzy. He took his clothes off in a daze, and put them in a drawer he found in the bathroom. _Be calm. You are safe. No harm will come_. He couldn't physically panic anymore. He found himself taking deep breaths, in between rubbing himself down, and occasionally touching his cock, which was getting harder. Some forgotten part of his brain was screaming, _It's some drug, they've drugged you! Snap out of it! Wake up!_, but the voice was receding further and further away.

Kris sprawled on the bed, and when the first man came through the door, he smiled happily.

He soon realised that the drug was only meant to get him through the first phase, when some men might have run off in a panic. He fully woke up on his back, his knees up around his ears, being pounded mercilessly by a heavyset man in his forties. There was a ringing in his ears and a burning sensation on his face, and the man inside him grinned.

"You're awake! I hate it when they dope you guys up so much. I want to see you feel it. You are _so_ fucking tight."

Kris tried to move his arms, but the guy was holding his wrists down above his head. He was grunting involuntarily every time his client bottomed out, but he still managed to ask:

"Did you just hit me?"

"Just a slap, to wake you up, like I said. Don't want to fuck someone in a coma. Now shut your mouth, I'm, yeah, almost there . . ."

The man pumped into him even faster, and the bed started creaking and groaning, which was weird: surely it didn't have bedsprings? Kris realised that his mind was deflecting again, trying to distract him from the fact that this jerk was about to come inside of him. Thankfully it didn't take long, and he was yelling, and calling him 'slut' and 'whore'. He collapsed on top of Kris, his chest heaving, and licked the red mark his hand had left on Kris's face.

"Pretty whore. I've booked you for tomorrow, but you won't be this tight anymore." He burst out laughing, and pulled out abruptly. Kris had prepared himself to wince in pain, but the lube must have contained a numbing effect, because it wasn't half as bad as he expected. The man stood up, still grinning at him. He looked like he was going to slap Kris's ass, when he jumped slightly, as if he'd been zapped.

"Hey! What the fuck!"

_Your session is concluded. Please vacate the premises._

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." The man grabbed his clothes from a chair and got dressed quickly. Kris noticed that the bed didn't creak anymore as he sat up: he realised that those had probably been sound effects which the client had demanded. He wanted to get up and use the shower – he felt sticky and used, and he was sure there was come on the inside of his thighs.

_Please remain on the bed. Your next appointment is due. Calm yourself. Be calm. No harm will-_

"Stop! Just. Enough, ok. I need to be awake for this." He needed to hold on to himself through this, which he couldn't if he was going to spend the night in a doped up haze. The voice didn't say anything else, and he could hear footsteps coming to the entrance of the room. So, they didn't want him to clean up? Then he wouldn't.

The next man was a thin, lanky, nervous seeming man in his thirties, who stuttered when he told Kris to get on his hands and knees. His dick was bigger than the first guy's, though, and Kris winced as he was stretched more than before. Once the man (no names were exchanged: Kris didn't know if that made it better or worse) was fully seated in his ass, he pulled Kris up so that he was sitting in his lap.

"Now ride me. Don't touch yourself."

That wasn't going to be a great sacrifice, thought Kris as he rose and fell on thin guy's dick. Though he felt some buzz due to the incessant hammering his prostate was taking, he hadn't got a full erection yet, and probably wasn't going to.

"I want to hear you. Say stuff. And moan."

Kris started gasping and groaning obediently as he rode and rode – finally the man started whining and grabbed Kris's hips, forcing him up and down faster and faster, until he thrust so hard Kris felt he was trying to split him open. Just like the first guy, this one pulled out abruptly. He was halfway out of the apartment before he was even fully dressed. Kris felt resentful. _No wonder you guys can't get real dates, if that's how you treat them._

The next set of clients seemed to merge into a blur. There was the one who wanted Kris on his back, holding his legs apart, and who pulled out just before orgasm in order to shoot all over Kris's face. There was another who spent most of his half-hour spanking Kris, calling him a naughty boy – Kris had to suck him off to be 'forgiven'.

In between clients, Kris noticed what seemed like a guardrail which went all the way around the room, and which could be reached from the back of the bed, if he stretched. He touched it, curiously, wondering what it was for. Nothing was decorative in this room.

The voice answered his unspoken query.

_The alarm strip goes all around the room._

"What do I need an alarm for? Thought I was here to satisfy everyone's needs." As soon as they left his lips, he wished he could take the words back. He'd heard that people who acted resentful had a harder time of it. But there was no pause or emotion in the answer, which came immediately.

_There have been clients whose expectations were excessive, and might have caused permanent injury._

Kris kept his thoughts about _that_ to himself. So, he was a _commodity_ which couldn't be damaged.

_Following the next group, you will be allowed a period of 4 hours in which to rest._

"Really? Great, I'm exh- wait a minute, group? What-"

There were only two men in the doorway, but this was the first group session he'd had. The way they were looking at him, as though he were something edible, didn't reassure him at all.

"Look at him! Isn't he cute?" Kris wanted to answer resentfully that he wasn't a toy, but he'd realised that the men who came to him rarely wanted to hear his voice, unless he was gasping and moaning in false pleasure. One of them sat beside him on the bed, stroked his hair a little, and then, predictably enough, pushed his head down to his erect cock. Kris opened his mouth as wide as he could and started sucking, willing this to be over as soon as possible.

All the while, one thought preoccupied him: what was the other guy doing behind him? There was a strange clinking and ratcheting noise that he couldn't place, when all of a sudden it dawned on him: the chains. _They're going to use the fucking chains on me, oh fuck._ In sudden reaction he pulled off the man's cock with a pop, and nearly fell back onto the other man, who had positioned himself behind Kris.

"Oh, we got a live one here! You're gonna make us fight you for it?"

A million thoughts went through his head, but he knew, ultimately, that he couldn't fight. They hadn't done anything to break the rules. The chains were there to be used. He felt hot tears prickling at his eyes. He was so tired. Just these two, then he could rest.

"No. I'm not gonna fight."

"Good!" They laughed as if he'd told the most hilarious joke ever. Then, the one whose cock Kris had been sucking produced a gag which he stuffed in Kris's mouth, and the other man got off the bed and pulled Kris's arms up so that he could fasten the cuffs around his wrists. He tightened the chains until Kris had to kneel up so he wouldn't be hanging off them. Kris had never felt so terrified in his life – he must have been snorting in fear because the chain guy grabbed his jaw and said:

"Calm down. Nothing's gonna happen which hasn't happened already."

The other man, who was idly stroking Kris's ass, said something about all the favours he'd had to call in to get Kris on his first night, and they started bickering about the fact that they'd only managed to get the standard half-hour, even though they were two people. Kris felt like he was in some bizarre, surreal nightmare. This was not the dignified ritual he'd learned about in school, where he provided a service to the state and the people, and ensured that sexual frustration did not lead to violence and riots. He was a whore and a sex-toy, nothing more. Kris was almost glad that they'd tied and gagged him – he'd not been so close to running all night.

While he'd been trying to calm himself down, and at least regulate his breathing so that he wouldn't faint, the man who had chained him had been pumping his own cock, making himself fully erect. He knelt in front of Kris, and carefully got him to crouch so that he could be penetrated. Soon, Kris's knees were splayed on both sides of the man's thighs, and the man bounced him up and down a little, grinning at the wet noises which made Kris blush. Kris was chewing on the gag now, and the guy kept urging him to pull himself up a little, using the chains, and then let himself fall down again. Kris could feel the other guy crawling up behind him. He didn't understand what they were going to do until he heard the man behind him squirt some more lube on his fingers, which he then started rubbing on the stretched rim of his hole, where it met his friend's cock. Kris started to struggle, yelling muffled protestations through his gag, until the man he was riding grabbed his face.

"Hey! This is going to happen, no matter how much you fight. The more you struggle, the more it'll hurt. Maybe you want us to fist you, instead?"

Kris shook his head, vehemently. He was helpless to stop the tears which streamed down his face.

"Ok. Glad that's settled. Well, Curt. Get in here!"

The man behind Kris laughed, and Kris had never hated someone more in his life. Then Kris felt Curt's hard cock nudge at his hole. Slowly and gradually it pushed in, stretching him unbearably, until they were both fully seated inside him, and his ass was a point of burning agony. His hands hurt too, something which puzzled him, until he realised, through the fog of pain, that he must be gripping the chain tight enough to leave marks. He couldn't hold his head up any longer, so he just leaned it against his outstretched arm, and did his best to relax fully.

He tried to go somewhere else in his head, out on the lake with his friends from college (he hadn't spoken to them in years), playing with his dog (he'd had to give him away when he moved into the apartment), playing catch with his dad (he was starting a five-year sentence for fraud). But no matter what, he was dragged back into this place, these two monsters, taking turns to thrust into him, laughing like hyenas.

"Man, this is the best! So fucking tight! Curt, fuck, I can feel your dick, oh fuck."

The only consolation was that the heightened stimulus made them come relatively quickly, even though, for Kris, every second stretched out for centuries. They each pulled out of him, carefully this time. The chains were removed from his wrists, and the gag was taken off. He was too shattered to do more than keel over onto his side. He sensed that they wanted to do more, but thankfully the voice interrupted whatever they were planning, and protesting, they left him alone.

_K. Allen, you can use the bathroom now. The facilities contain instruments designed to treat any anal stretching and tearing you might have suffered-_

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

Lost in a fog of exhaustion and misery, Kris wondered who was screaming and sobbing so loudly in the room. He wished they'd be quiet. He needed some rest.

 

Kris woke up with a gasp. He knew exactly where he was, and what he had been doing. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep: what if he'd wasted his four-hour break? He shot up, wincing, and got himself off the bed as quickly as he could. He looked around wildly, trying to get some desperate clue as to how long he'd slept. With a sense of relief, he realised that one of the numeric readouts had turned into a countdown, and as he watched, fifteen seconds passed. He'd only slept for some forty minutes, and all of a sudden he wanted to cry again, this time in relief.

Shaking his head in disgust at his own sudden weepiness, he decided to explore the bathroom. He spent another fifteen minutes under the shower, in between panicked looks at the timer – he had an irrational fear that he'd misread what the numbers said, and that any minute his time would be up. He tried to open the drawer containing his clothes, but that remained locked. _Guess I'm meant to stay naked for a week? This is fucked up._

He held his breath for a second, certain that he'd said the last out loud, and that some punishment would follow. His last clients had shaken to the core his faith in the system and its essential justness. _I guess it's different when it's happening to you._ All those stories he'd read on the news sites about evil Runners, and how they were no better that terrorists – would he have to re-evaluate every one?

He tried all the drawers in frustration, and one opened smoothly. It contained a strange looking piece of equipment, which looked like a smooth metal glove. There were pictorial instructions on it, which essentially showed how he was supposed to hold it over whatever hurt, in this case, his ass. A minute or so of warmth followed, and then it cooled down. He took the glove off and gingerly touched himself, expecting to feel the stabbing pain he'd woken up with. Surprisingly, he couldn't feel any puffiness, and it didn't hurt at all. _Good as new, ready to be fucked raw again._ The only other drawer which opened contained a soft cotton robe, which he put on, grateful not to have to be completely naked. He wandered through 'his' room again, and noticed that the rest of his apartment had been sealed off, except for the front door and the hall. He looked at his jacket hanging off a chair, and swallowed hard. He'd been so naïve only a few hours ago. Maybe he _would_ ask to be drugged again. He didn't think he could get through the whole week otherwise.

Suddenly he realised that there was someone standing in the doorway. He froze in horror, and cast another in a long series of panicked looks towards the timer. It showed that he still had over two hours left – he breathed deeply in relief and turned towards the stranger.

"Listen, I'm on my break, ok, so . . . " Did he always sound that whiny and fearful? He realised he was shaking. What if this guy wouldn't take no for an answer? What if he got chained up again? He started inching slowly towards the bedroom, intending to get close to the alarm, when the stranger took a step forward into the light, revealing an open, friendly face.

Kris stopped. The man didn't look like he wanted to hurt anyone. He was taller than Kris, with black hair and blue eyes, and a pale freckled face.

"I'm not here to be your client! I just wanted to talk to you." Even the man's voice sounded clear and amiable, and it was true that he made no motion to take off his black overcoat and boots.

"You wanted to talk to me in the middle of the night?" Kris was still suspicious. Yes, the man had a happy wide smile, beautiful eyes (_and incredibly broad shoulders_; Kris tried to switch off the treacherous part of his brain that still found that attractive), and didn't need to rape him because if he waited two hours he could fuck him legally. But still.

"Oh, honey." The man looked sad, suddenly. "It's six in the morning."

Kris's eyes filled with tears, and he felt a sudden rush of anger at the way he'd been turned into some weepy child. There was no clock in the room, only a timer. He'd lost track of time. He supposed that would have made him easier to control. He blinked furiously, willing the tears to disappear.

"My name is Adam." The man continued, smiling again, obviously trying to reassure him. He put out a hand. Kris's first instinct was to back away, and then he took control of himself and forced himself to shake Adam's hand.

"I'm Kris. Yes. That's my name." He was not some sex-doll to be used for pleasure and discarded. He shook Adam's hand, even though some part of him still feared that Adam would pull him forward, and that the friendly smile would turn into a cruel leer. He suddenly realised something that his subconscious had been nagging him about ever since Adam had moved forward. Adam had a cuff on, but it moved. It moved. How could it move? The only way it could move was if-

"You're a Runner!" He pulled his hand out of Adam's clasp and started to back away towards the room.

"Wait! Please wait!" Adam put both hands out but didn't try to run after him or catch him. "Please, just hear me out."

"Talk fast." Kris was barely managing to keep his breathing under control. It felt like his head was buzzing with one whirling thought after another. Who was this guy? What did he _really_ want? The worst thought of all suddenly struck him. Maybe if he turned in the Runner, he would be exempt from the rest of the week. He felt sick, suddenly. What was he _thinking_? His father would be ashamed of him.

"Yes, I'm a Runner. And I've come to get you out. I'm sorry I'm late . . ."

"You're _sorry_? Do you know what I just went through?"

"Yes, I do, 'cause I went through the whole week when it was my turn."

Kris had the grace to feel ashamed of what he'd said, and thought. Still, to risk everything and Run? Maybe it was better to soldier on; a week wasn't forever, right?

"You . . . you've got the wrong idea. I don't want to Run. It's just a week, right?"

"Your dad didn't want you to go through this. He arranged for someone to come and get you out."

Kris scoffed. "My dad? My dad's in prison, what could he arrange from there?"

Adam sighed, visibly holding on to his patience. Kris had his arms folded, and his fingers were twitching, trying to pull the robe more securely around himself. He felt a bit resentful that he was practically naked while Adam was fully clothed.

"Your other dad? Maxwell? And why do you think your dad was sent to prison in the first place?"

"Maxwell arranged for this? He always told me what an honour it was to be chosen to serve!" He remembered those arguments at home, over the dinner table. There had always been a strange, resentful undertone. It gradually dawned on him that there was something he'd missed, something Adam had said. He moved towards Adam, and judging by Adam's expression, the look on his face must have been frightening. It was as though he was watching himself from a distance, as he grabbed Adam by his coat and slammed him against the wall.

"What do you know about why my dad's in prison?"

Kris had an arm across Adam's throat, but he didn't look frightened anymore. "Calm down, Kris. Let's just sit down and talk. Come on."

Adam managed to disentangle Kris's fingers from his coat and they sat down. Kris's hands were shaking, and he clasped them together, willing them to stop. Part of him didn't want to hear what Adam had to say, and he half-wished Adam had never walked through the doorway. He glared at Adam, who ran a hand through his hair and looked at Kris through his eyelashes, trying for a reassuring smile.

"Haven't you ever asked yourself why you haven't been chosen till now? You're exactly the type they like most: short and cute, with a great a- I mean, pretty eyes."

Kris shrugged, still feeling mutinous. He'd always taken for granted that he wouldn't be chosen once it hadn't happened by the time he'd turned twenty: some guys weren't, though he'd never seen a pattern.

"Oh, Kris. It's all rigged, you know. All of it. If you have enough money you can pay off the selection board, which is what your dads did, until either the money ran out or the price became too high. My dad was single when I turned 18. He didn't have that kind of money, so he always made sure I was _very_ well fed. And the retainer, oh boy. Here, I'll show you."

Adam reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a piece of stiff paper – Kris recognized an old-fashioned photograph. No-one used paper these days. He saw a plump young man, with masses of reddish blond hair and an ugly, old-fashioned retainer covering his teeth. He looked at Adam again, disbelieving.

"This is you?" Adam giggled.

"Bad, huh?"

"Oh, I don't know. You looked happy."

Adam sighed, saddened. Kris felt bad, and then rolled his eyes. He didn't owe this guy anything, and time was ticking by.

"It didn't work, though," Adam continued. "A month after I turned eighteen, my dad was visited by reps from the Selection Board. They'd drawn up a diet plan and had made appointments for dental visits. Either that or he'd go to jail. Six months later, and I looked like I do now, except blond, and younger. And a few weeks after that I was in a room like that one." He pointed towards what had been the back wall.

"How did you deal with it?" At eighteen, that was terrible. Kris had a sudden feeling of pity for the kid Adam had been.

Adam shrugged. "Not very well. I had my own little self-destructive downward spiral." He laughed, self-deprecatingly. For the first time that that day, Kris wanted to give Adam a reassuring hug. This must be his day for mood-swings, one minute he wanted to punch Adam in the face, the next . . .

"My dad spent a year working towards getting me out, all the time having to watch me turning into some self-destructive cliché, not daring to tell me anything, because this is dangerous, Kris. That's why Maxwell had to toe the line, and why Neil went to prison. For the system to remain in place, no-one must know what we know. Neil and Maxwell keep quiet, and Neil goes to a minimum security facility for five years, instead of dying mysteriously."

Kris clenched his teeth and deliberately pushed aside the thought of his father's death, and latched onto the one thing that made sense, the thing he'd feared.

"So my dad's in prison because of me."

Adam got angry. "No! He's in prison because some corrupt assholes decided the money they got from pimping you out was better than anything he could give." He took a deep breath.

"Kris, you have to decide. Now. Are you coming with me or not?"

"I . . . I don't have any clothes. They took everything." Now that escape was so close, Kris felt terrified. What if they were caught? Everyone knew what happened to Runners who were caught.

Adam leaned forward and took both of Kris's hands in his. He looked deeply into Kris's eyes, and Kris felt almost mesmerised by his intensity.

"I have clothes for you. You just have to say yes or no."

"What if we get caught? Everyone tells these stories about Runners in prison . . ."

Adam leaned back and rubbed his face. He reached in his back-pack and brought out a small capsule.

"If we get caught you get to use this: just crush it between your fingers, and it has the same effect as the drug they use in, in the rooms." Kris winced.

"It should be enough to convince them that you were doped up and I forced you to come. About prison." Adam shrugged. "I don't know if those stories are true, and I won't ever have a chance to find out. I've never met a Runner who was sent to prison and escaped or got out. It's more likely they're just taken somewhere and shot after having as much information extracted from them as possible. Which is why I can't get caught."

Adam extended his arm towards Kris, and Kris had a chance to examine the cuff he wore. Superficially, it looked like Kris's own. Looking closely, Kris noticed a tiny raised bump on one of the edges. He looked up at Adam, who nodded.

"I have to put my fingers in a certain configuration and then squeeze the bead. Poison. I'll be dead in seconds." Kris gaped at him in horror.

"I know about five escape routes for Runners, as well as how to reach our ultimate destination. And if I'm caught, they'll get it out of me. Everybody breaks." Kris felt a sudden surge of affection for this man who he had just met, and who was willing to risk his life for someone he didn't even know. He was going to do this. He took a deep breath and felt suddenly liberated. He'd never been happy here, and now he knew why. He smiled at Adam.

"Yes. I want to come with you."

Adam broke out in a dazzling smile, and enveloped him in a hug. It was like being cuddled by an extremely friendly bear, and though Kris held himself stiffly at first, he found himself melting into Adam's arms. He allowed himself a couple of tears as he clutched Adam's coat, then he pulled himself together and drew back, swiping his hands over his eyes.

"So. You said you had some clothes for me?"

Adam's backpack contained what looked like a few flat rectangles of cloth. He unzipped the edges and unfolded jeans, a t-shirt and a long sleeved button-down. During the day it wasn't cold enough to need a jacket, anyway. There was even underwear and a pair of shoes in his size. Kris was lacing them up when he noticed Adam rummaging in the pockets of the suit jacket he'd put on that morning before work.

"What . . .?"

Adam said "Aha!" and triumphantly brought out a small gem – he saw Kris's puzzled look and said: "It's a tracker – we had-"

"Jeffson? He planted it on me?"

"Yup. We have all sorts of people working for us on the inside. Maybe one day this whole shit-hole will collapse in on itself." Adam sounded bitter and angry for the first time. Kris raised an eyebrow, and Adam smiled at him, his anger evaporating.

"Time to go, hon."

"Yeah." Kris looked longingly at the briefcase with his computer and all his tech, but he knew he couldn't take anything with him. Adam noticed him staring at the door to his bedroom, his real one.

"What's in there?"

Kris sighed and looked at the calluses on his hands. "It's an ancient musical instrument which I found in a junk shop. A guitar."

Adam looked sympathetic. "Do you know how to play it?"

"I taught myself, after I'd restored it."

"I'm sorry, honey. Maybe we can find you one, when we get- where we're going." Kris looked at Adam quizzically. "You know I can't tell you – you'll find out soon enough."

"One last thing." Adam pulled an electronic wand out of his backpack. He passed it over Kris's cuff, and the gem turned clear, as though Kris had been through the entire week.

"We have the technology to have it removed, where we're going, but for now, this'll have to do."

Kris felt it was enough. Looking at the clear gem, it was as though a huge weight had been lifted from him. He smiled at Adam, who smiled back, dazzlingly, and they walked out of the door.

He felt less light-hearted, two hours later, when the neighbourhood they were walking through started getting progressively more run down and derelict. He could see deserted warehouses, and trash blowing in the streets, a far cry from the suburban street he had grown up in, or the sophisticated area he had moved into once he started working. They had taken buses as far as they could, and Adam had told him that the lines all stopped here, and they would have to walk the rest of the way.

They'd had only one scare, getting off at one of the bus-stops. There was a pair of Officials checking everyone's cuffs. Kris had given Adam a panicked look, but Adam reassured him with a glance, whispering in his ear.

"As soon as you started your break, we hacked into the system and removed your details, and your pic. When they flash your cuff, you'll be Kyle Reese, and I'm your boyfriend, John Connor. The girls were laughing like crazy when they told me our ident names."

Kris looked puzzled. What was funny about the names? He'd read that when using a false name, people thought it was best if your name had the same initial, but otherwise, but that only counted for his first name . . . Wait a minute-

"Girls?" Kris was shocked to the core. The place he was going to had women? And men? Living in the same place? Maybe even, together?

"Ssh, baby," Adam murmured, kissing the top of Kris's head, and slinging one arm around his shoulders. "Everything will be fine, you'll see." Kris did his best to melt into Adam's side. It wasn't too difficult. He was starting to feel more and more attraction to this man whom he'd only just met, but felt like he'd known forever.

"Put your cuffs out." The Official looked unfriendly as he flashed their cuffs, and then frowned at the readout. "So, both unemployed," he snorted, exchanging a knowing look with his partner.

"We're entertainers," said Adam in what must have been his friendliest and most helpful voice. "I sing and Kyle plays an instrument."

"I'll bet he does." The second Official gave Kris a leer, and then turned to Adam. "What instrument do _you_ play, pretty?"

"Hey!" Kris put as much anger in his voice as he could, and given the fact that he'd just been the subject of state sanctioned rape, he had plenty. "You'll speak to my boyfriend with respect. We're citizens, and we have rights."

The Officials exchanged another look, and backed away, smiling. "Sorry sirs, no offence meant. Have a good day now."

Kris's heart was hammering as he walked away, wrapped around Adam like an octopus. His hands were shaking, so he anchored them in Adam's coat.

"Honey, that was _amazing_! How did you know to make them back down like that . . . Kris? Are you ok?"

He bent down, covering Kris's face by kissing his ear. Kris's voice was shaking.

"I thought they'd got us. I've never been so scared in my life."

Adam stroked his face, and pulled him in for a deep kiss. "Now, they might still be watching us, but even if they aren't, I've dreamt about kissing you ever since I saw your picture, back home." Kris found that he didn't mind, at all, and clung to Adam, kissing him back. "You know they were just testing us, to check that we were really on the up and up. Kris? You didn't really think that guy was going to force me to my knees and make me suck him off?"

Kris didn't want to stop kissing Adam, but he made himself look up into eyes that were brimming with concern. "Adam, I . . . I've had a long night. I don't know what I thought." He knuckled the tears out of his eyes, and wondered, furiously, when this weepiness would _end_. "Is there another bus we have to get on?"

"Yep. The last one, which will take us to the warehouse district."

And that was where they were, and they had been walking through it for a while. Kris was really starting to feel the fact that he'd had less than an hour of sleep that night.

"So, Adam? Tell me something about how people live, where we're going, if you can't tell me anything else."

He looked up at Adam, who'd taken off his coat and stuffed it into his back-pack. Adam gave him one of those enormous cheering grins, and immediately started talking. Kris, who had only asked to stop himself from falling asleep on his feet, tried to follow. According to Adam, it was a 'hippy paradise', whatever that meant. Unlike what Kris had always been taught, that men and women could not live in the same society without conflict and warfare ensuing, in Adam's home they lived and worked side by side.

"There's no rules about men living with women, or not living with women – men can be together, and women can be together, or even in groups of three or four. Whatever makes them happy!"

Adam was striding along now, his face glowing, gesturing as he tried to explain these weird living arrangements.

"Children are brought up by whoever wants them, not whoever is supposed to have them – as long as they're fed and clothed and educated, everyone benefits." Adam sighed. "I wish I'd grown up there. You'll see, Kris. Boys not worrying about their eighteenth birthday, women who don't have to give up male babies as soon as they're born, who don't have to have children if they don't want to. It's amazing! And wait till you meet-"

He stopped, suddenly. Kris, who had been almost running to keep up, almost bumped into him.

"Meet who? Adam? What-"

Adam was smiling more than ever. "Look."

They'd been walking through a succession of narrow streets, past abandoned buildings and warehouses, and Kris had been so focussed on Adam's voice that he'd ignored the strange sounds he'd been hearing for a while. Were those birds?

They came round a corner and Kris saw a huge expanse of water, stretching as far as the eye could see. He couldn't smell salt, though.

"It used to be called 'Lake Michigan'," Adam said quietly. Kris was stunned. The deserted shipyard, with abandoned equipment lying here and there, and rusting hulks creating artificial islands in the water, made him feel as though he and Adam were the only people left in the world. But he felt calm and peaceful, rather than sad – the water lapped gently against the dock, the sun glinted off the waves in the distance, and there were large birds flocking around, nesting, catching fish, incurious about the two intruders in their world.

"We stopped using it for trade once we split off from everyone – nowadays, hardly anyone knows it's here. Everyone's focussed inland, on the smaller lakes. But," Adam said with an effort, "that's good, for us in particular." He smiled at Kris, grabbed his hand, and pulled him along to what had once been a dock of some sort.

They climbed down carefully, using the rusted railings, and landed on a jutting stone platform, inches from the water. Adam prised out a loose slab, and pulled out a thick block of some sort of heavy-duty plastic. When unfolded, it inflated into a medium sized dinghy, with collapsible oars.

"No engine, sorry!" Adam gave him a grin, and they got into the dinghy carefully, and started to row away from the shore.

"Wait a minute!" Kris stopped rowing, and nearly dropped his oar. "Are we going to row all the way across? I can't see the other side!"

Adam laughed so much, he nearly fell overboard. He stopped once he saw the expression on Kris's face, though.

"Oh, Kris. I'm sorry, I'm not making fun of you, honest. I should have explained before. We're going to meet someone once we're far enough from the shore. I had to wait till now to tell you."

Kris looked nervously at the deserted shore they were moving away from.

"Do you think we're still in danger? That they might be looking for us here?"

Adam shrugged and started rowing again; a moment later, Kris did the same.

"There's still danger, yeah. I think we've gotten past the worst, though."

Half an hour later, when the waves started threatening to capsize their dinghy, Kris wanted to make Adam eat those words. He'd read somewhere that bad weather can creep up on you in lakes more than at sea. Whoever wrote that knew what they were talking about. He hadn't spotted the clouds until they were practically on top of them, and now the wind was blowing up some good-sized waves, too. They were both fighting to keep hold of the oars and stay in the dinghy, and that was how the fishing boat was nearly on top of them before they saw it.

They couldn't really see, through the rain and the spray in their faces. Adam whispered urgently to Kris.

"We're lovers who just wanted to have fun on the lake, and the wind pulled us out, ok?"

Kris nodded, even though he didn't think anyone would believe them. His despairing thoughts about the room he thought he'd left behind, and whether Adam would have any poison left for him, were interrupted by a light and cheerful voice from the fishing boat, which somehow cut through the sound of the wind and the rain.

"Ahoy-hoy, land-lubbers! Do you want to come aboard, um, avast mateys?"

Adam gave a great shout of laughter.

"Oh you little bitches! About fucking time!"

Kris heard some high-pitched giggling from on board the boat, and then a rope ladder unfolded over the side. Adam urged him to climb up first, and Kris forced himself to use the last of his strength to get on board.

It looked like a typical fishing boat which he'd seen in very old movies. Strange rusting equipment, piles of rope lying about, some large white rectangular objects which looked like freezers, nets – all these were scattered about on deck. He looked at the people who had pulled him over when he thought his strength had failed him completely.

They were now helping Adam get the dinghy on board, and he could observe them at leisure. There wasn't much to observe really – they were about his height, a bit taller maybe, and when he heard their voices he thought they might be teenagers (_What kind of place sends kids into danger like this?_), but they were wearing heavy oil-slickers that covered their bodies and shadowed their faces.

"Let's go in", one of them yelled over the wind and the rain. "We have to get away from this weather!"

Adam nodded eagerly, grabbed Kris, and pulled him towards a battered old door. Kris went in, only to be stunned by one of the many surprises this day had in store for him. It was like he'd entered another world: the interior of the cabin looked nothing like he'd expected. Everything was upholstered or brushed metal, warm air came from vents somewhere, and the general impression was of high-tech comfort.

Kris turned to look at Adam who was smiling proudly, and then he stared at the three people who had just come in, and were in the process of taking off their oil-slickers and squeezing out their hair with expressions of distaste. Everything seemed strange about them. They didn't look as young as he'd thought from their voices, and their, _chests_ seemed strangely prominent to Kris. As he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, Adam did his best to envelop the three of them in a bear-hug, and squeezed, until one of them, in a muffled voice, complained that he couldn't breathe.

"Sorry, sweetie! What's with all the 'ahoy business' anyway?"

"It's part of our ancient languages project! Apparently, that was an example of 20th century British slang!"

This was the slightly plump boy with the dark skin and the huge almond eyes. But Kris had never seen a boy who looked like that – and suddenly it clicked for him. He was looking at a woman, at three women, and he staggered a bit as he realised that he was face to face with three actual women. In the same room, even. Adam turned to look at him in concern.

"Wow, I'm being so rude! Gir-", a stern glance from one of the women made him interrupt himself. "I mean, ladies, this is Kris! And Kris, these are Lucy . . ."

"Ahem!" Another woman interrupted Adam again. "This," she (_she_) pointed to the dark-skinned woman, "is Perdita, I am Diamanda, and that is Esmeralda." She said the last while gesturing to a woman with short-black hair and oriental features, who was working feverishly at a control board. He, no, _she_ turned and smiled at Kris, who was really getting used to the female pronoun by now.

Adam tried out the names, mouthing them quizzically. Then he shook his head and laughed.

"You've changed your names, _again_! Your moms must be going crazy!"

Perdita had gone to help Esmeralda at the controls, and together they were coaxing the boat out of the storm.

"They're not the bosses of us! They don't tell us what to do!" Diamanda pulled them towards the other cabins.

"Uh, yes? They kind of are? And they do? Oh, don't tell me, more slang, right?" Diamanda nodded happily. Kris wished he could add something to the conversation – they must think that he was mute.

"They're pretty names. Kind of musical."

"He speaks!" Diamanda continued chattering happily at Adam, telling him all the latest news in their community, but Kris had reached a wall when it came to his strength. He knew he was being led down a narrow flight of stairs, which prompted him to a foggy thought of, _how big is this boat, anyway?_, and he and Adam were shown to a large cabin containing a large bed. There might have been other things in the cabin, but that was all he saw as he slowly fell face-down into it.

"I'm never moving again."

He must have still been understood despite the fact that he was speaking into the mattress, because he heard Adam and Diamanda laughing as he drifted off.

Kris came to a couple of times before he woke up, fully. Each time he became conscious of the fact that Adam was sharing the bed with him, snoring, and the three women were talking, about what he had no idea.

" . . . so then Cassandra said . . . who's Cassandra? Oh, you know, _Abby_, she wants to be a _seer_ she says . . . I thought no-one believed what Cassandra foretold? Yes, _I know, anyway_, she says, our language project is like, so totally lame, and then _I_ said, Oh yeah, well, architecture is boring, and . . . Did she actually say 'totally lame', or did you make that up . . ."

Kris dozed off again. He woke up in a panic, and it took him a few moments of looking around him, staring at Adam, and making sure that the cabin was actually swaying gently, to reassure himself that he had really escaped and this wasn't just an extremely detailed dream. Adam was still snoring happily next to him – he turned to look at his clothes and realised that there was a note in the breast pocket of his shirt.

_There's a shower in the third cabin! Use it as long as you like!_

Kris found the shower, and, despite the note, restricted himself to five glorious minutes. He felt refreshed and ready to face the future, even filled, as it was, with . . . women. He swallowed nervously. He put on the clothes Adam had given him, glad that they had dried when he was asleep.

He wandered through the corridor and up the stairs, finding no-one, until the cheerful laughter led him up on the deck. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was coming up, and all three women were outside. They were all working on some aspect of boat . . . stuff. Kris had no idea what they were doing. He was curious, though.

"Aren't the controls all inside the, uh, cabin?" Perdita beamed at him.

"That's just for emergencies and stuff – normally we're supposed to do it the old-fashioned way, teaching us about self-reliance and preventing over-dependence on contemporary tech." She sounded like she was quoting from a text-book, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Esmeralda making gagging motions and rolling her eyes. He looked away quickly and tried to nod his agreement.

"Adam still asleep?" Kris nodded, again.

"I didn't wanna wake him."

Perdita laughed. "Don't worry, we'll get him up. Can't get out of this, everyone has to work on this boat."

Kris wondered what Adam did. He'd told the officials he was a singer, was that the truth? Kris couldn't believe that singing was considered work here. Perdita saw the expression on his face and smiled.

"Don't worry, he loves it. He's a pretty good cook. And we all have to balance work and play, that's how our society moves forward."

"Yawn, Perdy. Snore." Esmeralda was suddenly hanging upside down from the rigging. "Way to put off our new friend before he even gets home."

Kris hurried to reassure them. "No, it's ok, I love work. Work is awesome."

They looked at him and he blushed, wondering why he was talking like an idiot.

"What work did you have to do . . . over there?"

Diamanda didn't seem to even want to refer to his home by name, and he didn't blame her. All of a sudden he looked back at his experiences and felt sordid and unclean. _It wasn't all bad,_ he wanted to protest. _Just the forced sex and the corruption_ . . . oh, who was he kidding. He'd need some time and distance to get over it, let alone defend it to these happy people who'd never been forced to do anything more unpleasant than clean up after themselves.

"I worked in computer . . . stuff."

Diamanda smiled. "That's great! We love computer techs, they're always needed!" Kris felt relieved; at least he could be useful there and make up for needing to be rescued, _like some helpless woman_ his brain added. He gritted his teeth. He had to stop thinking like that.

"What about for fun?" she continued. Kris was amazed that fun seemed to be as important to these people as work – he'd had to keep his hobbies to himself at home.

"I found this old instrument – a guitar. It was beat down. I restored it, and then I taught myself to play it."

"Oh. My. God." _What's a god?_, thought Kris. But Perdita was jumping up and down in glee. "That is the best thing ever: you're musical, just like Adam! You can join us, in our language project; we find old songs all the time, and learn to sing and play. You and Adam, you're going to make _such_ a great couple- Ow!"

The last was a result of Esmeralda kicking her in the shin.

"Esme!" Esmeralda, unfazed, answered, "_Perdy_!" imitating her tone perfectly. Perdita stalked away, not before smiling at Kris and giving him a thumbs up.

"Please don't pay attention to her. She tends to be, a bit, premature." Esmeralda smiled at him reassuringly. Kris blushed, again, and scratched his head.

"I do like Adam, though. Is that weird?"

Esmeralda broke into a blinding smile, and just as she opened her mouth to answer, she was interrupted by a shout from the galley.

"Are you coming for breakfast, or are these two piglets going to eat it all?"

Two loud and aggrieved 'hey's followed Adam's words, and Kris and Esme ran towards the galley, where Adam had made breakfast, and the other two were already tucking in. Adam smiled at him, and Kris didn't think he'd ever been happier.

Some time later, full, after what seemed like the best meal he'd ever eaten, Kris asked something which had been worrying him ever since he'd gotten on board.

"What if someone attacks the boat? I mean, you're out here, all alone, and you're, uh, women," and therefore weak and defenceless, he wanted to continue, but managed to successfully stop himself from parroting all he had been taught back home. Adam shook his head, smiling, and held his hand up.

"I'm not touching that one!"

They looked at each other, and by unspoken consensus, Perdy was chosen to explain.

"First of all, we're women, and your societies are so separate, except for handing over male babies and such, that all we'd need to say would be, 'We're on a special mission for Womanland,' or whatever they call it, and by the time they found out that we weren't, we'd have slipped away. Secondly, _these_ help."

He realised that while she was talking, the other two women had pulled out ugly-looking machine guns from somewhere, and when he turned back to Perdy, she was cradling the biggest machine gun he'd ever seen in her arms.

"Wow. That's. Those are big guns."

Perdy laughed. "Keeping our society autonomous and afloat has sometimes relied on big guns, and people who know how to use them. Like Adam."

Kris turned around and saw that Adam had his own, a semi-automatic pistol. Adam shrugged, ruefully, and answered Kris's unspoken question.

"Sometimes, the road to peace, love and understanding involves the use of semi-automatic weaponry. Now shoo, everyone, I need to do the dishes, and Kris needs to stay and help me."

Perdy and Esme left, making kissing noises, while Diamanda remarked, "Oh, is that what we're calling it nowadays," once she was half-way out the door and out of range for anything Adam tried to throw at her.  
It didn't take them long to wash up, and after that, Kris felt exhausted again.

"Man, I don't know why I'm so tired. I haven't _done_ anything all day except eat."

Adam hugged him. Kris was starting to get used to Adam's bear-hugs, and enjoy them.

"Let's go to bed!" Adam saw his face and burst out laughing. "To sleep, I swear! I'm feeling tired, too. I think all the stress from yesterday is catching up on us."

Kris hoped he hadn't insulted Adam. "Look, I like you a lot . . . I think we could go somewhere from here. It's not _never_, just, not right now."

"I get it, honey. C'mon, we could do with a nap."

"But what if someone attacks the boat?"

"We won't be much good to anyone if we're falling asleep on our feet. They'll want us to be rested in case they need our help."

Kris woke up gradually. He was resting on something soft and warm, and someone was stroking his hair. When he opened his eyes, he realised that he was lying cradled on Adam's chest, and he felt as warm and safe as he had ever been. He smiled up at Adam, who stroked his face, and smiled back. Kris took a decision, and pulled Adam down for a deep kiss. When they had last kissed, he had been terrified, and putting on a show. This time he could really take his time, and enjoy every second.

He lay back against Adam's chest, and realized that the boat was slowing down. There was an intercom in the room, which suddenly came to life with Esme's voice.

_Fog ahead, guys, so we're going in by ear._

"What does that mean?" Adam just nibbled at Kris's ear and shushed him, saying that he would find out soon.

At first Kris wasn't sure what he was hearing. Then he realised that one of the women was singing a strange haunting melody, a yearning which had no answer.

"What is it?" he whispered, almost afraid to interrupt.

"They've been going through some old songs in strange old languages – they practiced this one so many times, _I_ know it now." Adam sang a few verses along with the women, and Kris was struck speechless by the purity of his voice. He stared at Adam. He really _was_ a singer, and a really good one at that.

"It's a call and response thing – like a code, which also works at guiding the boat to land in bad weather."

Kris leaned back against Adam's chest. "What do the words mean?"

"I'm not sure, really. I think everyone just loves the sound of the music." And the music _was_ beautiful and sad, and eerie. Kris couldn't help picturing the boat, floating slowly into the fog to this strange accompaniment. Kris shivered, chilled slightly by his imagination.

Just when he was sure they would be floating along forever, lost in the mist, Kris heard a different voice, coming from where he supposed the shore was. The language was again mysterious to him, but the tone was reassuring, and spoke of safety and home, welcome and love. Kris realised that he had tears in his eyes, and pulled Adam's arms more closely about him. Maybe this could be home, for him.

It took them a while to dock properly and unload the boat – the women had even done some fishing while waiting for them, so there was fresh fish to pack into portable coolers and load onto the dock. By the time everything was done, some of the fog was clearing, and they could see the small groups of people waiting for them at the end of the small pier.

Diamanda, Esmeralda and Perdita were immediately absorbed by a large group of women who were presumably their parents, Kris thought. Adam was pulled aside by a tall older man, and a younger man who resembled Adam, his brother, Kris assumed.

Kris was feeling slightly at a loose end. He didn't know with whom he should be going, but didn't want to interrupt any of the happy reunions going on. There was still enough of the fog in the air that he couldn't really see his surroundings very well – it was when he was looking around curiously that he spotted another woman who was not a part of the other groups, and who was staring at him.

He blushed – he was barely getting used to being around women all the time; being under such close scrutiny was unnerving. He approached her and noticed that she was older than the group he'd just shared a boat with. She seemed to be his dad's age, and had blond hair cut above her shoulders, and a friendly smile.

"Hello," he tried. "I'm Kris."

"Pleased to meet you, Kris." She smiled at him and took his hand. "My name is Kimberley." She held on to his hand and seemed to want to tell him something; there were tears in her eyes. She shook her head slightly, as if to stop herself, and squeezed his hand.

"Kris!" Adam was waving at him. "Come on, we're all going for lunch!"

Kris started following the group as they moved inland, still holding hands with Kim, who didn't seem to want to let him go. He knew he should be asking questions about his future, and why this stranger had latched on to him. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care, and decided he'd let everything come to him in its own time. Kim smiled at him, again, and he realised that for the first time in a long while, he was happy. This was home.


End file.
